


[You've Been Voted] Off the Island

by crunchyflakes



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Bat Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:45:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crunchyflakes/pseuds/crunchyflakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce takes the boys for a vacation, just to have a break and be with the family. This isn't one of his better ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Getting There

**Author's Note:**

> this is the intro chapter for a story i hope to continue throughout summer.

Looking around the table, Bruce notices that it’s the first time they’ve sat down to dinner together in months. Tim is stopping by for the night so he can avoid the red-eye to London, and Jason had said that he was only dropping in for a free dinner that he didn’t have to cook himself (although Alfred definitely has plans for him and the dishes). Dick is at the Manor for a week helping Bruce with a case.

Bruce puts his utensils down and clears his throat, watching as all of his boys stop their debate and look to the head of the table. Alfred leans in with curiosity.  
“I think it would be a good idea to do something as a family.”

There’s silence. Damian is the one who breaks it. “Like…we all go on patrol together?” It garners a little laugh from Dick. Bruce looks at his youngest. He’s done family things with him, right? Or had it been so long since their last outing that it predated Damian?

“I mean like a vacation together. I can’t remember that last time we did that.” Bruce moves his attention to the rest of the chicken on his plate. “How long since we’ve gone to the beach house?”

Alfred pipes up. “Master Bruce, I believe the last several times you’ve gone, you’ve gone with a date, not a Robin.”

“I never went.” Tim offers. “Jason must’ve been the last one to go.”

“Well then, I say we go once the weather gets better. How does mid-May sound to you?”

“I need more than a month’s notice, B.” Tim says. It seems like he’s always busy these days.

“June. We’re going in June, then.”

“What about the city? Who’s going to take care of your precious Gotham?” says Jason. He’d been too quiet through the entire process.

“I’m sure some one in the Justice League wouldn’t mind spending a week keeping tabs here.” Bruce stands and gathers the plates on the table. “Who wants dessert?”

. . .  
Damian sits in his room, playing with Titus. Today is the day they leave for the beach house. It’s a sunny morning—warm, pleasant. They should be leaving soon.

“C’mere, Titus.” He calls. The dog trots over and drops his toy in Damian’s lap. Somewhere down the hall the phone is ringing.

“Good boy.” Damian tells his dog. He rewards him with a few pats on his side. “Are you ready to go to the beach? Are you ready, boy?” Titus wags his tail and licks Damian’s face. Damian wipes the spit from his cheek and pulls his legs back onto his bed. “Well that makes one of us.”

Dick pops his head in the door, and Titus runs from his place next to Damian to greet the visitor, who scratches the dog’s head absently. “Hey, that was Tim on the phone, he’s running late.”

“I bet he’s still in San Francisco saying good-bye to everyone and making a production of it.”

“Actually, the Titans couldn't wait to get rid of him—“ Damian bursts out laughing. Dick sighs and tries talking again, sterner. “because they want him to take a vacation with his family because they love him.” Dick makes sure that he makes eye contact with Damian when he says the last part. “He’s late because his flight from Oklahoma City into Gotham is delayed. Thunderstorms or something.”

“So an extra hour or so before we leave?”

“Probably.”

The front door slams downstairs, and Jason’s voice carries through the entire Manor. “Who’s ready to start the Extended-Wayne-Family-Passive-Aggressive-Vacation-Bonanza?”

Dick and Damian exchange stares.

“Please just promise me you’ll be pleasant this week?”

Damian sighs and Dick rushes downstairs to help Jason with his bags.

. . .  
Tim arrives (an hour and a half late, a fact that Damian won’t let anyone forget) and they all pile into Alfred’s van. 

They’re barely out of Jersey when Dick suggests playing license plate bingo.

Somewhere near Providence Jason threatens to detonate the bomb he stuck on the engine if Dick doesn’t stop.

There’s an impromptu search of the car at the next rest-stop, and when the van is cleared, Jason is sent to the last row of seats with the dog and the luggage.

. . .  
The boat ride out is much better than the 3 hours it took to drive to the ferry, because they all have room to spread out and away from each other. The water is choppy, and Tim spends most of the ride in the bathroom being sick (he’d always been bad in boats but now there were 300 other people around to make him anxious, too). 

Dick leaves Damian and Jason alone at the table they’d found near the window for a bit to get drinks, and when he returns the two are asleep on each other. He fumbles for his phone to take a picture, and Bruce wanders toward them.

“I can’t believe they’re already this tired.” Bruce checks his watch. “It’s only five.”

Dick takes a swig of Damian’s hot chocolate. “Yeah, but they've had a long day full of traveling and brooding.”

“So have I.”

“Yes, but you’re the Batman.”

Bruce checks to make sure no one is within hearing distance. “I am the Batman.”

. . .  
By the time they are off the ferry, fed, and at the house, it’s about ten. Dinner had taken a while, and it didn’t help that Jason gotten them lost in the dark on the way to the house with bad directions.

In the true Wayne fashion, it’s located as far away from the city and tourism as possible. But, it’s a small island, and far away only meant fifteen minutes from the edge of town. Unlike any other Wayne home, however, this one is modestly sized—a traditional saltbox house that might have once boasted several guest rooms but now barely fits the minimum.

“Boys’ rooms are upstairs,” Alfred states as he sets down a few bags. “Master Bruce and I will be down here, if you need us.”

Dick, Jason, and Damian race upstairs to claim rooms, but Tim remains in the backseat of the car, fast asleep.

“I’ll go bring him in, Alfred.”


	2. Settling In

There is a mad scramble for rooms upstairs. In the end, Alfred decides that the headaches from arguing aren’t worth it, so he assigns rooms to them: Dick in the largest room at the end of the hallway; Damian in the next room over, with the porch so the dog could go out at night; and Tim in the room across from Damian’s, right above Bruce's. All of the rooms are clumped together at the end of the hallway. At the other end of the hallway is a cramped room that barely fits the bed and nightstand.

“If I recall, the room seems to expand considerably when you open the windows, Master Jason.”

Jason grunts and drops his duffel bags on the bed. “Seems like sleeping beauty should be getting the smallest room. First come, first serve, y’know?”  
“Yours was the shortest straw.”

“Isn’t it always?”

. . .

Maybe it’s midnight, maybe later. Bruce settles down against the pillows and listens to the waves crashing against the darkness. Then, out of nowhere there’s a crack of light and the squeaking of floorboards and

“See, I can stand up in here.”

Bruce’s eyes fly open. “Jason.”

The springs of the bed creak. “I’m sleeping here.”

“Jason, go back to your room.”

“At least let me have the floor.”

“You can have the couch in the living room.”

. . .

Alfred is shocked the next morning to see Jason sprawled eagle-style on the pull out sofa. He supposes it’s the smell of bacon that rouses the young man.  
Next up is Bruce, followed closely by Tim. Damian is next down the staircase with Dick on his heels. Damian’s scowl is toxic, and he looks rumpled and sleep deprived.

“Morning, boys.” Bruce greets. 

“I want to speak to Alfred.”

“You can’t talk to your cat, stupid.”

“Shut up, Drake. I can call Kyle and talk to her about my cat.”

Bruce had hired Selina to take care of the manor in their absence. He didn’t trust her at all with the city, but he was sure she could manage to water the plants and take care of their cat without too much malice.

Damian calls her at 7:30 in the morning, she picks up on the fourth ring, and he proceeds to have the most serious phone conversation Dick’s ever seen, outside of Batman.

“Does he miss me too much? Are you sure he’s happy? Have you made sure to feed him a treat at night?” His face is scrunched up, and it looks like he might cry.

He hangs up the phone and sits down at the table, and Alfred places a plate of eggs in front of him. “I’m going to come home to a dead cat, father.” Damian says as he pushes the eggs around on his plate.

“Damian!” Bruce snaps. His son’s eyes are wide as he looks up at his father, and a little fearful. Bruce softens his tone back to his usual growl. “I’m sure Selina is more than capable of caring for a cat.”

“Yeah, she’s only CATwoman, you dipshit.” Jason says around a mouth of toast. Alfred, Bruce, and Dick send him a glare, but Tim snickers.

“I just want to go home…”

Bruce pretends he doesn’t hear his youngest. “So, boys, what sounds good today? What do you want to do?”

“Master Bruce, I believe I can keep the boys busy today. The house needs to be prepared for a week’s stay.” Alfred turns his attention to the boys. “Finish eating, gentlemen, and meet me in the yard.”  
. . .  
The side yard where they all meet is green and overgrown. It overlooks a small stream that leads to the ocean, which is at the other end of the yard. Alfred stands in front of the boys, all at the ready, with a variety of cleaning products and a list.

“The deck must be hosed off, the table on it cleaned and the umbrella vacuumed out.” He looks at all of the boys. “Master Jason this is perfect for you. Master Tim, you’ve proved your hand adept at bleach: You’ll make your rounds in the bathrooms and kitchen. Master Dick there are beach toys buried somewhere in that shed over there, and Master Damian, no I haven’t forgotten about you, you will take care of this yard: lawn mowed and litter off the beach.” Alfred claps his hands. “Chop chop! The sooner we’re done here the sooner we can head to the markets!”

The work gets done mostly without complaint (Damian is outraged that people would leave litter on Wayne land, and Tim wasn’t ready for a post-Jason bathroom). It takes a while, and they’re all exhausted by the time it’s over. Despite their whines of protest, Alfred looks at the boys and says, “I suggest you put on some comfortable shoes, Masters.”

Titus and Alfred lead the way to the harbor, where they buy a “shit-load” (“Thank you, Master Jason, for such an accurate and eloquent measurement”) of lobster. It’s almost sundown, and ferries are bringing more temporary tourists back to the main land, their hands full of parcels for relatives, bags of uneaten food, and garish sweatshirts advertising the island. Damian looks at the boat longingly. He wants to be boarding and going back home, back to something familiar. He wants to be the people with gifts for family far away, minus the sweatshirts.

“Come on, Damian, we don’t have all night!” Tim is calling back at him, another shopping bag stuffed under his arm. Dick is walking backwards next to him and giving   
Damian a reassuring smile.

Damian smiles back and runs to catch up with the rest of the family.

. . .

They all sit down at the table. They’re eating outside on the porch, and the sun is hanging low on the horizon, just resting on top of the water. The lobsters are served whole and steamed. Damian looks at his plate.

“I’m not eating this.”

Bruce sets down his shell cracker. “You said you’d eat fish.”

“I hardly regard this as fish. Plus, it’s looking at me.”

“It is exactly what you ate at the restaurant last night.”

“Yes, well last night it wasn't looking at me.”

Bruce let’s out a terse breathe. “If I cut it up for you, will you eat it?”

“I guess…”

Bruce pushes out his chair (with a little more force than necessary), grabs his son’s plate and stalks inside. The others at the table look away before Damian can realize they were staring.

“This pilaf is great, Tim.” Dick says.

“Yeah,” Jason says. “If I close my eyes I can hardly tell it came from a box!”

“Hey!” Tim protests, but everyone laughs.

Bruce reemerges from the screen door and roughly places Damian’s plate back in front of him. “Better?” 

The once whole lobster is now a shadow of its former self, meat taken from the claws and tail. Damian pushes it around on his plate, spears it on top of a broccoli crown, eats, and nods. “Much better.”

Bruce settles back into his seat and begins to eat, and Dick has already launched into litany of annoying tourists he’d encountered throughout the day.

. . . 

“Alright.” Dick slams the door open, and Damian and Titus both look up, jarred. “What’s going on with you and Dad?”

Damian rolls his eyes and returns to his reading. “Mind your own business, Grayson. Leave.”

Dick does the opposite. He strolls across the room and sits on the edge of Damian’s bed. “So there’s nothing going on?” Damian makes to push Dick off the bed. “hey—hey!” Dick laughs. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s up!”

Damian retires his efforts. “I hate it here. There’s nothing to do here, and when something has to be done, we have to do it as a family. I can tolerate you and Father, but I’m already sick of the other two. I just want to go on patrol.”

Dick gives him a sympathetic look. “Things’ll perk up, trust me. The first day is always nasty because you have to adjust. Give it time, you’ll like it here.” Damian looks unimpressed. “Listen, how about you and me go get some taffy or something tomorrow, does that sound good?”

Damian smiles, just the smallest, faintest smile. “I think that would make things a bit better, Grayson.”

Dick ruffles his hair. “Great, and you better still be up for this tomorrow.” He gets up and stretches. “Well, g’night, Damian.” Dick closes the door behind him.

Dick walks into the living room, where Bruce is reading.

“Is Damian okay?”

“Yeah, he’ll be okay. I think the kid just needs to hit the beach sooner, rather than later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this point on, I'm thinking about narrowing the view point per chapter. It's the more efficient way for me to make sure I get everyone included.  
> Also if there are any critiques would you let me know?


	3. Day Two: Corporate Style

Jason walks out of the bakery and drops a bag into Tim’s hand. He is half-leaning half-sitting on the rail outside as he rummages through the warm, paper bag. He pulls a small lump of dough out.

“Zeppole, Jason? This early in the morning?” Tim asks.

“Shut up, man. I thought you liked fancier things?”

“I’m not complaining—is that my coffee?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I drank some of it. I had them do the double espresso shot like you asked and I’m warning you, this stuff tastes like dirt.” Jason lights a cigarette.

Tim takes a long sip. “Well, smoking cheap cigarettes must have destroyed your taste for finer things, because this is delicious.”

Jason blows smoke. “Fuck off, Tim.” He digs through the bag and pulls out a couple pastries, stuffing them all in his mouth at once.

The two of them sit there on the porch for a few minutes. It’s late morning, around 10 A.M, and the weather has taken a sudden turn for the dreary. Dark, thick clouds cover the sky like wallpaper, and there’s a slight rain coming down. There’s not enough to ruin any plans, but enough so that Tim and Jason stay under the awning to wait it out. Despite the weather, it’s warm outside, and the humidity makes them both sluggish and uncomfortable.

“So, did you just drag me out in the rain so I could pay for your breakfast?” Tim asks dryly.

Jason chuckles lightly. He takes one final drag from the cigarette and puts it out on his boot. “Nah, I had other plans, I’m just stalling until this lets up.”

“May I ask what your plans are?”

“Okay, you were asleep on the drive into town, so you didn’t catch this, but from what I’ve seen of this place, you can’t go three blocks without running into a mini-golf course.”

Tim’s face slackens. “Mini-golf? That’s the big plan for today?”

“Have you ever even tried it?”

“I’ve played real golf.”

“Well, Mr. Corporate-Kiss-Ass, I guarantee you this is at least a hundred times better than what you’re playing with Wayne benefactors.” Tim still looks unimpressed.  


“Look, I went online last night and printed out a list of the courses around here. If you want to go home and grab the van to drive to some farther ones, fine, but they’re all themed, and this looks like fun.”

Tim takes the printout from Jason. “There’s a Justice League themed course?”

“No way!” Jason snatches the papers back. “I’ll be damned. We’re doing this. If you don’t want to go to golf, you can check out their accuracy, but we’re going to this place.”

. . .

Their jaws are dropped the second they pull into the place. Different holes are dedicated to different heroes, and the final hole is modeled after what civilians think the JLA headquarters looks like. 

“Oh my god, Tim, are you seeing this?” Jason is dumbstruck. 

They end up taking pictures with every hero cutout they see, laughing the entire time (“Now make it look like you’re giving Green Lantern a fist-bump!” “Charlie’s Angel’s pose with the Black Canary and Hawkgirl statues!”). 

By the time they’ve completed the course, it starts raining again, but harder than before. As they return the equipment it begins to thunder, and they make a dash for the car.

“It’s about noon. You want to grab lunch somewhere?” Jason asks.

Tim is still catching his breath in the passenger’s seat. “Am I buying again?”

“I nabbed Bruce’s credit card when we went to get the car.”

“Then let’s go out in style.”

. . .

Jason and Tim end up in the same café they went to that morning. The dining room behind the bakery is a little small, but they’re still early enough to beat the lunch crowd, and all the business remains in the front of the store.

They order, and once the waiter is out of earshot, Jason leans forward on his elbows. “So what’s new?”

Tim’s attention moves from his phone to Jason. “I’ve been thinking about maybe taking on this new undercover gig.”

“No.” 

“Excuse me? Who died and put you in charge of what I do?” Tim asks.

“Is Bruce putting you up to this?”

“I mean, it’s for Batman Inc., so I guess when all is said and done, yes, Bruce is the one in charge, but I volunteered for it.”

“Really? So with all of the responsibility you already have, you’re taking on an undercover job?” Their drinks arrive and they both put on a happy face. Once the waitress leaves, Jason leans back in his chair and the scowls return. “Fucking unbelievable.”

“So you’re a-OK with everything you and the outlaws do?” Tim’s face is turning red and his voice is rising just a little bit.

“Yeah, Tim, I’m okay with what I do. And I’m not about to go on your Bruce-approved guilt trip—hey, you alright?”

Tim is staring at the ground and breathing deeply, and what he’s probably hoping is evenly. After a final, shaky breath, he looks back up at Jason.

“I don’t want to have this conversation right now. I had all the preparation done for talking with Dick about it, not you.” He wipes his nose and eyes on the sleeve of his sweater and clears his throat. “Topic change: how long do you think Dick is going to last alone with Damian today?”

“Longer than Bruce is going to last on this vacation.”

They both laugh and talk until their food arrives. They eat, leave, and while Jason stops under the awning for another cigarette break, Tim notices the headline on all the daily papers, glaring through scratched and yellowed plastic casings.

“Oh, damnit, B.” Tim mutters. He drops twenty-five cents in the slot and picks up the paper, while Jason reads over his shoulder.  


_**BATS IN OUR BELFRIES? ** _  
 _Last night, over a dozen calls came in, stating that Gotham’s famed vigilante, the Batman, was spotted on North Street. No arrests were made, but does this mean we are no longer safe? Continued on page B4 under BATS. ____****_

_****__ ** ** _

_****____ ** ** _

“Should we call him on this?” Tim asks as they begin to walk to the car.

“I say we leave this one to Dick, or Alfred.” Jason responds. He unlocks the car and sits down behind the wheel. “We’ll bring it up if it continues.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so there are actually places like this, I swear. I'm not just really into mini-golf. It's like in Hyannis, Massachusetts.  
> Also Dick and Damian next chapter??  
> and if anyone knows how to bold/italicize on here that would be wonderful to know how to do.


	4. Day Two: Salt Water Taffy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone wanted to know, i've taken the city of Hyannis and put it where Martha's Vineyard is. that's kind of the demographic, here.  
> 

_Crash! ___

__Damian sits upright in bed, suddenly awake. He looks around the room. Titus is still sleeping with his head placed neatly on top of his paws. “stupid dog…” Damian mutters. He throws himself back onto his pillow and pulls the covers over his head. His face gets hot and uncomfortable and sweaty. He resurfaces to check the time on the clock on his phone._ _

5:29 A.M 

__

____

__Damian rolls from his side onto his back and shuts his eyes. The crash, along with footsteps and the quiet shutting of a door had been isolated incidents, and the only sounds now came from the even breaths of sleep and the clock down the hall._ _

__

_tick, tock, tick, tock _  
That particular clock was inspired by tigers, and was the only non-bat that Bruce Wayne ever bought.__

______

_tick, tock, tick, tock ___

______When Damian was six, his mother had taken him to see a Bengal tiger that had been given to the League of Assassins as tribute._ _ _ _ _ _

__________

_tick, tock, tick, tock ___

________His mother hates him now, he is sure of it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________

_Bung! ___

The clock echoes the welcome of 5:30. Damian shifts under the blankets again. It’s unnerving to him, how quickly and terribly he has been affected by the past few days. Usually, five ’o’ clock was the time his brain shut down after a night of adrenaline highs. Now, he sits sleepless, waiting for Alfred’s or his father’s footsteps to signify a start to the day.

__________. . ._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________

_Damian marched to his father’s office, a new patrol report clutched tightly to his chest. Bruce had assured him that he was capable and Damian spent all night working on it, perfecting it. He came to the door and froze, his hand suspended in the air and ready to knock. ___

______________________

_“I respect your right to our son’s life, Talia, but you can’t just demand him back because it’s convenient for you.” ___

__________________________

_Damian peeked through the crack in the door. His father was standing against the front of his desk, one hand holding the receiver to his face and the other hand grasping the desk. ___

______________________________

_Then Damian’s mother’s voice came across the line, terse and vitriolic. He strained to hear what she might be hearing. She began yelling at the end of her tirade, louder and louder, until he could hear her scream, “He is made gentle with you! His life is with me, and I command you to return him to me! To fulfill his life’s purpose!” ___

__________________________________

_It was as if she knew he heard her. Her voice softened and his father’s face became less tense. “Goodbye, Talia.” ___

______________________________________

_He hung up and phone and walked to the door. Damian scurried to the side, to act as if he was waiting patiently the entire time. When his father emerged, he could still feel the heat in his cheeks. ___

__________________________________________

_“Ah, Damian.” Bruce cleared his throat. “I see you have the report.” ___

______________________________________________

_He took it from his son and closed the door. ___  
. . .  
At 6 A.M., Damian hears the soft creaks of the floorboards as the house comes to life. Alfred is the first one up and is in the kitchen making tea. Damian remains in bed, but watches as Titus pitter-patters out of the room and down the stairs. 

__________________________Damian closes his eyes. He hears the jingle of collar tags—a warm good morning from Pennyworth. He waits for the sound of kibble being rained into the metal bowl, but it never comes. Instead, the stairs creak and a pair of slippered feet lead Titus back to Damian’s room._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________Damian quickly rolls on his side and tries to feign sleep._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________“Master Damian.” Alfred announces. Damian sighs and positions himself so that he is staring at Alfred from just above the edge of the comforter. “I dare not think you need to be reminded that dogs are to be walked, vacation or not.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________Alfred is standing in the doorway with Titus leashed and sitting beside him. He loops and knots the lead around the doorknob. “I’ll leave him here for whenever you’re ready.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________“How did you know I wasn’t sleeping?” Damian asks angrily._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________“Master Damian, I’ve watched every Batman and every Robin try to elude mandated rest. I know when you’re faking it, sir.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________Alfred leaves and Damian gets dressed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________. . ._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________The morning is sunny, but there are storm clouds forming on the horizon. When Titus stops to sniff at the ground, Damian observes them. There’s a storm coming, at least he hopes. Maybe that would ruin the vacation and force them home._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________They move further into town and walk along by the harbor. Boats are already coming in and going out. Most of the cafés are opening their doors and moving chairs and tables outside the shops. Damian stares blankly out at the waves while Titus barks at the seagulls. The weather is warm, but there’s a cold wind that raises goosebumps along Damian’s arms and legs. It isn’t long before he is startled out of his thoughts by a tap on his shoulder._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________There’s an elderly lady in an apron standing behind him. She’s smiling brightly at him, and he does his best to mimic the expression._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________“Good morning!” she greets._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________Damian nods. “You too, ma’am.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________The woman—Beverly, her apron says—hands Damian a bagged pastry._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________“I don’t have any money.” Damian says tersely._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________Her smile persists. “Oh, dear, don’t worry. First customer’s order is always on the house.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________Damian looks around, confused. To his surprise, he’s standing under her shop’s sign. “I didn’t go into your bakery. This doesn’t count as being a customer.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________“Of course it does, dear.” She pushes the bag into his hands. “You have a nice day now.” She waves._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________. . ._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________Damian returns to the house to find Dick up, and having a one sided conversation with Bruce._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________“Hey! Look who’s back.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________“Good morning, Grayson. Father.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________Bruce puts his paper down and takes a sip of coffee. “From what I hear, Dick has quite the afternoon planned for you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________Dick shoves his butter-covered hand over Bruce’s mouth. “Shut up! I don’t want you to spoil the surprises.” Bruce grabs Dicks wrist and moves his hand back on the table.  
“Be back for dinner, sirs.” Alfred says as he enters the room. He refills Bruce’s coffee. “Master Bruce has taken it upon himself to do the cooking, won’t that be delightful?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________. . ._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________By the time Dick is ready to leave (“what can I say? This kind of beauty takes time—ouch, cut it out, Damian!”) it’s nearly 11. Jason and Tim hijacked the van about an hour and a half ago, so Dick and Damian walk into town the same route that Titus was walked._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________When they get to the harbor, Damian spots the bakery. It’s crowded now, and Beverly is still standing out under the sign greeting guests._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________“Hold up a second.” Damian says to Dick. He jogs over to where the old woman is standing, and after waiting for her conversation with a young family to finish. He hands her a crisp five dollar bill, which she accepts graciously. She invites Damian inside for a cup of lemonade, but he points back at Dick, who returns the wave and friendly smile sends his way. Damian returns to Dick’s side._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________“What was that about?” Dick asks, chuckling._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________“She insisted I take one of her pastries this morning. I had no money at the time, so I paid her now.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________“So is that your angle? Being cute with old ladies?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________Damian pushes him off the sidewalk. “Moron.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________Dick laughs again. “That’s adorable.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________They talk back and forth until they reach a small taffy stand right before the closest thing to a highway that the island has._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________“Is this lunch?” Damian asks as Dick grabs two self-serve bags and unfolds them. He hands one of them to Damian._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________“Yes it is,” he says, grabbing a handful from each bin. “Enjoy.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________The taffy stand is a long, narrow thing. On the sign there’s a mural displaying a menagerie of different cliché sea animals all gathered around a mermaid with long, lavender colored hair. ‘ _Best Salt-Water Taffy on the East Coast! _’ she exclaims. The sign is sun bleached and chipping—all of the paint is chipping. The only pretty colors come from the taffies themselves. They’re lined up in large wicker baskets that have seen better times, and are organized according to color, forming a rainbow up the counter.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________“What’s a ‘fluffer-nutter’?” Damian asks, picking up a candy in a sand colored wrapper._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________“Oh, man those are Tim’s favorites. Grab an extra handful, will you?” calls Dick from the other end of the counter._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________While Dick is careless in his selection, Damian takes longer, examining every wrapper, every flavor. It had rained earlier in the day, and the sun was now straining to be seen, and making the weather uncomfortably humid, as if it was overcompensating for lost time._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________After fifteen minutes, Dick pauses his conversation with the high schooler behind the counter. “C’mon, Damian. I can feel myself getting a sunburn.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Damian walks over to the register, adding a few pieces extra of the flavors that sound particularly appealing. All three bags (one for Dick, one for Damian, and one for Alfred) are placed, bulging, on the scale. They pay and the second they start to walk away, their hands are buried in the bags._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________“Ugh.” Damian spits a half-chewed taffy back into its wrapper. “The Chocolate-Mint is terrible.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Dick, who is chewing through no less than three fruit flavors at once, hands the smallest bag over. “Just dump all the reject flavors into Alfie’s bag. I’m sure he or your dad will like them.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________They walk to the beach and find a spot with the fewest obnoxious tourists and sit in the sand. Taffies are transferred from bag to bag until everyone has only what they want in theirs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Dick unwraps a Maple-Pecan and pops it into his mouth. “So are you still feeling homesick?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________“I answered this question less than 24 hours ago, Grayson.” Damian takes a bite of a Root Beer._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________“I just wanted to know if you had changed your mind. A good night’s sleep can do that to you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________“Well it didn’t.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________“Are you being difficult on purpose, so that every one has as bad a time as you?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________“Maybe.” Damian blurts it out. The tips of his ears go red as he realizes what he’s admitted to._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Dick sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just try to be a little easier on Bruce, okay? Let us have fun even though you can’t.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________For a while there is just the sound of chewing and waves._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________“Grayson.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________“Yeah?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________“Were there any real surprises planned for today?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________“Not really. I think I read something about a yacht race happening today, but I don’t think we’re on the right part of the beach for that.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Dick’s right. The crowds that formed to watch the race are far down the beach on the other side of the jetty. As the hour moves on, photographers start to gather on the oceanline in front of the boys and three blurred shadows lug across the horizon._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________“Well, there you have it.” Dick says. Damian _tt __s in response, unamused. The two of them start to get up, and as they are wiping the sand off their pants, one of the photographers turns around._ ____________________________

______________________________“Oh, hey, you guys are Waynes! Smile!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________There’s the flash of a bulb, and suddenly there are countless others, all asking questions at the same time (“What brings you to the Island?” “Is Bruce Wayne with you?” “Who’s got your vote in the yacht race?”)._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________“Leave or I’ll break your cameras!” Damian shouts. Dick pulls him away as he starts screaming about not following them. He just hopes they don’t quote him on it in the paper the next morning._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________. . ._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________They take the long way home to lose any possible followers. Upon walking in, the house is empty, despite it being only four ’o’ clock._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________“Maybe they went to the beach?” Damian offers._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Dick puts Alfred’s taffy down on the table. “Doubt it, it looks like thunder any second now.” There’s a crash and then a few muffled shouts from the back deck. Both boys race outside._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________It’s an interesting sight to behold: Alfred, Jason, Tim, and the resident fire extinguisher all huddled behind Bruce, who’s losing the battle with the barbeque. Their faces are covered in sweat and grime from the grill, and a pile of raw steaks remain untouched on the table behind them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________And then the heavens open up._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Bruce gets off his knees and growls. He kicks the barbeque for good measure, and his foot goes all the way through the aged plastic. “It needed updating anyway. I’ve had this thing since Jason was Robin.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________There’s uncomfortable laughter for the helpless situation. Bruce moves his attention to Dick and Damian. “You didn’t happen to bring any ready-to-eat food back, did you?” Both boys shake their heads vigorously. Bruce looks at the ground. “Didn’t think so…”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________It’s Alfred plan to order in, and they all shuffle back inside to pour over the menu collection._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Jason pulls Dick aside as they enter into the living room. “Did you see the paper this morning, Dick?” Jason asks._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Dick gives him a confused look. “All I got from the paper this morning were the cartoons and sudoku page that Bruce didn’t want._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Jason seems agitated, and pulls the front page from his back pocket. He hands it to Dick, who pours over it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________“You don’t actually think…he…do you?” Dick is heartbroken._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________“I don’t know what’s going on with him, but I want answers.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________“Yeah.” Dick folds the paper and hands it back to Jason. “I’ll talk to him about it.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________“Dick! Jason!” Tim shouts from the kitchen, where Alfred is standing with a small paper menu from the Thai place down the road and the phone. “Place your orders now or forever eat Damian’s imitation duck!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS SCENE???  
> in the past tense??  
> . . .
> 
> Flames shot up out of the grill, and Alfred-- good ol' trigger happy Alfred-- released a spray of white foam from the fire extinguisher.
> 
> Again. 
> 
> Bruce turned around angrily. The look was the same one they had all gotten from Damian countless times before. "Spray me with that one more time, and I swear to God I will give you to the Kryptonian."
> 
> "Noted, Master Bruce. Just as it was noted the first three times." Alfred exchanged glances and giggles with Tim and Jason behind him.
> 
> Bruce returned to his grill.
> 
> The front door rattled open, and Jason smirked down at his watch and then at Tim.
> 
> "They were gone for more than 5 hours, Tim." Jason said sweetly. "That means I won. Cough up the Hamilton."
> 
>  
> 
> **END ******
> 
>  
> 
> ****  
> **. . .  
> **  
>  also this taffy stand exists it is the best place on earth go now if you live near cape cod, it's called mermaids.  
> 


	5. That Day the Sun Never Came Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason feels confrontational and Dick gets sentimental.

The next morning, Bruce wakes up with weight on his chest.

Literally.

Jason and Dick, both in their pajamas, are in the room, and the younger of the two is on the bed with his feet rested on Bruce’s chest.

“Boys.” he says groggily. “To what do I owe the pleasure.” Bruce isn’t happy about being woken this early. He’d had a late night…

“You’ve got some explaining to do, pops.” Jason says, digging his heels into Bruce’s chest.

Bruce is confused, and politely trying to hide it. He lifts Jason’s feet off of him, and sits up in bed. “I can assure you, it wasn’t me who rest of that cake last night.” He laughs at his own joke, although no one else joins him.

“Can you just cut the bullshit?” Jason asks indignantly. “I mean, come on.”

Bruce’s face hardens. “Dick. What’s he talking about.”

“You know what he’s talking about.”

“Is this about Batman on the island?”

“The World’s Greatest Detective does it again!” Jason declares. “No shit, this is about the Batman sightings.”

Bruce chuckles, to the surprise of his sons. “No one is going to know the Batman is gone from Gotham, I hired a spare for the city. No one is going to figure out that Bruce Wayne is the Bat—“

“Are. You. Fucking. Serious?”

“B, this isn’t about your secret identity, however important that is!” Dick says, while Bruce and Jason stare each other down. “This is about—wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. You hired someone to play Batman?” Bruce nods. “Who the Justice League agreed to be you?”

“He’s not from the Justice League…”

Jason is livid. “So you hired some stranger to be Batman.”

“No, not a stranger: I hired Terry.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.” Dick pleads.

“Would I joke about something like this?”

If at all possible, Jason gets madder. “You hired Terry motherfucking Mcginnis to be Batman? Terry Mcginnis whose supposed to be in rehab?”

“I made sure he would be sober.”

“Didn’t he break that promise the last three times you saw him?”

Bruce sighs. “He’s my son.” Jason rolls his eyes.

Dick glares at him. “So are we.” He says. “And you said we were taking this vacation to get away from crime-fighting and Batman and just be a normal family, for once. Why can’t we at least have that?”

The boys leave Bruce alone in bed, and as they leave, he can hear Dick whisper, “This is going to crush Damian.”  
. . .  
It rains all day, crushing any hopes of spending a day at the beach. Instead, the shore is observed from afar: grey, fitful, and stormy. 

Everyone avoids each other. Damian plays with Titus, Tim catches up with the Titans and their work, Jason helps Alfred in the kitchen, and Dick stares thoughtfully out the window.

He can save this, he can. The question is how.

The answer comes walking through the door when Bruce walks into the living room and announces that he’ll be spending the evening out.  
. . .  
“Jason.” Dick has his authoritative voice going, his Nightwing voice. 

Jason, who had been helping Alfred sort out groceries into the right cupboards, turns around, disappointed that his brother hadn’t actually become Nightwing to beat their father. “What’s going on, Dick?” he asks conversationally.

“Bruce is going out tonight.”

“So?”

“So, we can have some actual fun. Just the Robins.”

Dick looks painfully happy with this idea. Jason just tries to fake a grin. “Well,” he says. Dick Grayson’s idea of fun usually meant something ridiculously cliché and sentimental; watching old videos that they loved growing up, for example. His face breaks. “Alright. But, I’m adding my own twist to this.”

Jason side steps around Dick (and around indignant questions like, “What’s your twist? Tell me it’s not guns!” )and walks into the living room, where Damian has taken Dick’s window seat.

“Yo, chickadee!” God, if looks could kill. “Get a coat and some sneakers on. I need to make a run to the convenience store.”

“tt. Go by yourself.”

“I can’t carry all of the bags.”

“Take Drake with you.”

“He’s on a business-call.”

The two of them glare at each other for a while. “Damian,” Jason says sternly. “Go get your shoes and a coat on and let’s go. I’ll make it worth your while.”

Damian thinks for a moment and then hops off the chair to get his things.  
. . .  
As luck would have it, when Jason reaches for the keys, Bruce is already standing in front of Jason with the keys in his hand. “Going somewhere?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Jason says. “I am.”

“So am I.” an inhale. “See you tonight, then.”

“Wait just a damn—“ but it’s too late. Bruce is already out the door. Damian walks up to Jason. 

“I’m ready to go.”

“Yeah, go put on something with a hood and grab the dog. We have to walk there.”  
. . .  
The small mercy of the day is that it stops raining long enough for the two boys to reach the liquor store. Damian ties Titus’s leash onto the bike rack and they walk inside, shaking off the drizzle that had just started. Jason grabs a basket and makes a beeline for the alcohol.

“Really, Todd?”

“Yeah, really.” He pulls a tequila bottle from the cooler. “Hey, text Tim and see what he drinks.” Damian does as he is told and lingers a few steps behind Jason he browses through the beers. Eventually his pocket buzzes.

“Tim says he’ll drink whatever.” He is about to put his phone away when he gets another buzz. “Dick says to get him red wine.”

“Tim told Dick?”

“I’m guessing…”

“Shit.” Well, if Dick wanted something special, he probably didn't mind. They make their way down the aisle until they reach the bottled sodas and juices. “What do you want.”

Damian pulls a bottle of cranberry juice from the shelf and puts it in the basket. “You said this trip would be worth my while.”

“Yeah, go pick out some candy you think we’ll all like and grab a few bags of it.” Jason reaches for a ginger ale.

They regroup at the counter with a basket full of booze and an arm’s load of Skittles. 

“Just this,” Jason says, as he reaches for his I.D. “and a packet of Newports.”

They check out and as Damian unties Titus, it begins to drizzle again. Two blocks away from the house, and it’s full-on raining, and by the time they’re inside, the thunder starts again.

“Hey,” Jason pushes the bags into Damian’s arms. Alfred is at the front door, talking to Tim about something. “You go around the back with these.” Before Damian can even _tt _at him, Jason pushes his youngest brother toward the gate. “Go. Now.”__

__He complies, and Jason walks casually through the front door._ _

__“Master Jason, I presume you know that you’re soaking wet.”_ _

__“Yes, Alfred, I know.”_ _

__“And you know what happens to the sorry souls who leave water stains on my hardwood floors.”_ _

__“Starved until they can find someway to remove the stain?”_ _

__“Something like that.” Alfred winks at Tim and Jason. “Good evening, boys.” He leaves._ _

__Jason stands on the welcome mat while Tim helps him remove his jacket, soaked completely through. “Where’s all the loot? Damian said you were buying drinks.”_ _

__“I did. He has them.” Finally freed from his jacket, Jason works on taking off his boots, which are covered in mud. “What’s that you’ve got cookin’, good lookin’? Smells great.”_ _

__Tim smiles. “Pizza a la Alfred. He’s taking himself out for dinner, but he scoffed when I suggested we order pizza. He said he could make it ten times better, and at least twenty-five percent better _for _us. And that’s not even including the salad.”___ _

____Jason, who is now approved for entering the house, walks into the living room, where Dick is setting up board games._ _ _ _

____“Wow, Apples to Apples, huh? That was the big plan for tonight?”_ _ _ _

____Dick looks offended. “Either this or Clue, and you and I both know how much you hate Clue.” Jason nods. Dick scans him. “Where are the drinks?”_ _ _ _

____“With Damian, but I don’t know where he—“_ _ _ _

____There’s an angry rattling at the door. Tim pulls aside the curtains and doubles over laughing. Dick opens the door and audibly gasps._ _ _ _

____Damian stands, seething, on the porch, and covered in mud. “Thanks for the push, Todd.” He says through gritted teeth. He hands the bags off to Dick, who hands them to Tim so that he can get a towel. Damian tries to walk inside but both Tim and Jason rush forward._ _ _ _

____“Do not step inside this house.” Jason says._ _ _ _

____Damian glares daggers at Jason, daring him to say another word, but Tim saves both of them. “Really, Damian. Alfred might kill you.”_ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is sort of a filler chapter, but there's more coming soon.  
> ALSO!!  
> In my mind, by some magic of the DCAU and timewarping, Terry Mcginnis exists as sort of the blacker sheep of the family?? like, think nearly estranged?? because of drug problems??  
> hence the rehab??   
> i'll explain it in the next chapter. or the chapter after that. one of the two.  
> let me know if there's anything i could be doing better for this story


	6. Success Rate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ******DRUG USE IS MENTIONED IN THE CHAPTER  
> also i wanted to clear up my addition of terry into the current timeline: he is about a year younger than jason, and shunned from the family after a lot of bad calls on the field. he didn't continue hero work after he was dismissed as batman beyond, and is taking up the batsuit for the first time in a few years in this story. he has meth addiction, and bruce foots the bill for most of the rehab.  
> dick never got to know him that well, jason dislikes him, tim hasn't formally met terry but doesn't like what he's heard (he's met matt mcginnis and hated him), damian doesn't know who terry is but knows that he is someone not to emulate.

Bruce walks into the club and almost chokes on the smoke coming from the fog machine. It’s an odd place, advertised on the website as a dance club with “the finest eating and drinking you’ll experience in this type of establishment”. There’s apparently a restaurant somewhere in the back, behind the flashing lights and pounding music.

“Ahem.”

Bruce turns around to find…is this the host? It’s an honest question, since the boy standing in front of him looks like he just came dance floor, with unevenly cut hair and a band T-shirt.

“I have a reservation for two, under Wayne.”

“You had the private room?”

“I did.”

The song changes and the host looks longingly back at the dance floor. He mouths something to a girl there, and then turns back to Bruce. “Come with me.” He says, put out.

They walk behind the DJ stand and through a hallway that twists and turns. The hallway is dark and the only light comes from lamps above the doors, which illuminate the numbers. They stop at the end of the hallway. “Your room, Mr. Wayne. I’ll send someone in to get your drink.”

“You’ll get me whiskey—neat." Bruce wants to put him to work.

The boy rolls his eyes and walks back down the hallway. Bruce doesn’t expect to get that drink anytime soon.

When he walks into the room, he is surprised to see Terry already seated, drink and appetizer in hand.

“Hey!” Terry calls. “Hope you don’t mind, I ordered without you.”

“How long have you been here? I thought we agreed to meet at seven.” He sits down.

Terry pushes the platter of food in front of Bruce. “My ferry arrived earlier than I thought and I didn’t want to spend my time shopping in some tacky antique store.”

A waitress walks into the room and places drinks on the table. “Okay, whiskey, apple martini, a round of waters, and the sampler-platter.”

Terry pulls the martini closer and Bruce waves the girl away. “We’ll let you know when we need you.” She leaves and Bruce locks the door.

For a while, Bruce sits back while Terry eats. “So…how is Dana?”

Terry slowly stops eating. “She called off the engagement about three months ago.” Bruce’s eyebrows shoot skywards. “Yeah, she said she didn’t want to consider getting married until I got clean, so we’ve been taking a break.” Bruce just nods his head. Terry looks up, “Can we talk about Batman now?”

“How is it going as Batman.”

“Fucking stellar, let me tell you, it feels great to be in the suit again. I’m busting crime left and right!” he looks at Bruce. “I think I might even be good enough to get back into the Bat’s Circle.”

“Terry,” Bruce sighs. “I don’t think you’re ready for that. You’ve been inconsistent in the past and you don’t work well as part of a team.”

“Yeah, but I live on these streets and I know how the crime works.”

“So does the Red Hood.”

“Jason Todd? Really? You’re putting him before me because you owe him? I may be flaky sometimes, but at least I’ve never tried to kill you!”

Bruce slams his hand on the table. That shouldn't have gotten to him like it did. “But you demand payment for what you do. Being the Batman is about keeping the streets safe, not getting paid like it’s a job! It’s charitable work.”

“Well excuse me, sorry I don’t make a hundred dollars an hour—“

“Because you spend every last dollar you have on drugs!”

Terry inhales indignantly and stares Bruce down from across the table. He’s quieter when he speaks again, but more angry, more insulted. “Well, since all I am to you is a failure drug-user, maybe Gotham doesn’t need me anymore.”

“Don’t act like a child, I didn’t say that.”

Terry downs the rest of his drink and rips the door open. Bruce tries to call after him, but he’s already gone. 

Bruce sits alone at the table, pinching the bridge of his nose. He takes out his phone and dials the Manor.

“Wayne residence.” Selina purrs at the other end of the line.

“Selina. I need you to watch the city for me.”

“What happened to”

“Long story, he’s compromised.”

“Fine. Do you want me to wear the Bat Suit?”

Bruce exhales. He isn't in the mood for attempt at humor. “Use your best judgment.” He hangs up.

A minute later a waitress walks in and begins to clear the table of the empty plates, then she comes back in, and asks sweetly, “Now what can I get for you, sir?”


	7. When the Bat is Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoa-ho it's been awhile!! this is my summer story, and it's just starting to be summer here, and i actually have time to update again!   
> enjoy!

"Ok," Dick says, leaning forward to grab a stack of cards off of the coffee table. He sets his wine glass down. "Everyone count your green cards." The rest of the boys follow suit and count.

"Eleven." Tim says.

Jason takes another drink from his beer. "I've got nine."

Damian rearranges himself in the cocoon of blankets he'd made. He throws the cards at the table and they flutter to the glass surface. "Two." He says unhappily.

Dick places his cards down and pours himself another glass of wine, emptying the bottle. "You win, Tim." Tim makes a small, victorious gesture with his hands as they all settle around the coffee table. Plates had been stacked and long forgotten by the edge of the couch. They sat and listened to the rain and drank.

Tim is the first to move. He sloshes the ice around at the bottom of his glass. "Anyone else need a refill?" 

Damian hands him his glass of cranberry juice. "I want alcohol in it."

Tim bends down to pick up the greasy plates. "Not a chance. You're bad enough sober." Damian lowers his glass and curls back up. 

It starts to rain harder, and thunder and lightning arrive at the same time. "Storm must be right on top of us." Jason says absently. Damian tenses and clenches his jaw. "Scared, kid?" Jason asks.

Damian scoffs. "Like I'm scared of a storm. I just have a lot on my mind." he looks at Jason. "You wouldn't know what that feels like, would you, Todd?"

Dick intercedes before Jason can respond. "Break it up, you two, Jesus, can't you just enjoy a nice moment?" Both of them mutter apologies, more to Dick than each other.

There's a flash of light outside, and the only thing louder than Tim's yelp of surprise from the kitchen is the sizzling and cracking of the light bulb above them burning out. The house is plunged into darkness.

"Shit," Tim says as he carefully walks back into the room. "Dick, are any of the lights by you working?"

Dick flips the switches a couple of times each. "Nah, the powers way out." He sits up. "Does anyone know where the candles are?"

Jason and Dick fumble around for a while by the light of cell phone screens, eventually finding a couple of votive candles and placing them all in the center of the table. Jason's lighter flicks to life and soon the living room is bathed in a soft, warm glow.

Alfred arrives home around 10 PM to a circle of Robins sharing stories about patrol in the rain. "No lights, boys?"

"Power's out" they all grumble in unison. 

Alfred shuffles around the kitchen, hanging up his coat and umbrella and starting a kettle on the stove. His elbow hits a bag, which falls to the floor and dumps its contents everywhere. The boys' hearts stop when they hear him bend down and pick them up to examine the small candies.

"I didn't know we had Skittles." he says innocently. After years of raising these children, he knows how to get a confession.

"Yeah, we do." Dick says, guilty. 

"We should probably let you know about the booze, too." Tim admits. They hadn't been able to dispose of the bottles, and they all knew that Alfred's disappointment would be easier to bear if they came forward with the truth now. "Damian didn't have any, though, don't worry."

The butler sighs from the kitchen. "What are we going to do with you..." he opens up the freezer. "Better question, what are we going to do with all of this ice cream, just melting away?" He looks at their silhouetted faces. " Surely you've   
had enough sugar for one night?"

The boys nod mournfully and Alfred sighs again. "Oh, well." He helps himself to a bowl of Mint Chocolate Chip. "Isn't it time," he says around a mouthful of ice cream. "For little birds go to bed?" He speaks almost directly to Damian, who's head is lolling to the side and onto the couch Dick is sitting on.

"You've all ruined my sleep cycle." he mutters, half-asleep. "You and your stupid vacations."

The front door rattles and Bruce walks in. "Cats and dogs out there." he notes.

"Indeed." Alfred agrees.

Dick stands and gathers Damian--blankets and all-- into his arms. "Well, this one's hitting the hay. We're getting up early for the beach tomorrow when it clears up. G'night, everybody."

"I'll take him up." Bruce says, and takes Damian from Dick, settling the small bundle against his chest. Damian makes a small, sleepy noise as he passes between hands. 

When he pushes the door open to Damian's room, Titus immediately jumps off the bed to greet them, his tail wagging. Bruce places Damian against the pillows and runs a hand through his son's hair.

"I love you, Damian." 

He cracks the door and returns downstairs.

"How's your other family?" Tim asks lightly. He isn't mad like Jason or Dick, but he isn't the biggest Terry McGinnis fan, either.

Bruce grunts and pushes Dick's legs off the couch so he can sit down. "Don't ask, just don't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beach chapter is coming up next!  
> please let me know if there is anything you want to see, or i could be doing better in this story :)


	8. Oh Brothers Let's Go Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowowow it's been too long, mostly because it's been a long time since batman feels hit me. i really want to finish this story this year, so here is the start of the end. it's very rough, editing wise, because i want to get this uploaded, but i also have to work in the morning, so i need to go to bed.  
> i hope you enjoy!

On its way out, the storm had taken all semblances of cool weather with it -- a fact that Dick notes while he stretches on the porch in the early morning air. He's still in his pajama's, as is Bruce, who brings out two cups of coffee and sets them on the railing. The two of them look out at the waves pushing against the sand. 

"You know," Dick says nonchalantly, "we couldn't have asked for better weather than this."

Bruce sips his coffee and hisses as the too-hot liquid goes down. "Can I talk to you about Damian?"

Dick straightens himself from the stretch he was in, taken aback by the topic change. "Sure," he says, "about what?" He's almost nervous, but he doesn't let it show.

Focusing down on the lawn beneath them, Bruce speaks in a tone that corporate-friendly Tim would be more familiar with: it's the tone he takes when there's bad budget news, or layoffs. It's direct and emotionless -- it's Bruce forcing himself not to care.

"Talia has demanded that I return Damian to her custody."

Immediately, Dick laughs, but when he looks at Bruce -- a man who has just come to grips with the fact he may not get to see his youngest child grow up to be the vigilante he wants -- his face drops and he's left almost wordless.

"Shit, Bruce."

It's Bruce's turn to laugh, albeit sardonically. " 'Shit' is right." he says. "Apparently she thinks our son is better off in a life of corruption. I..." he lets out a sigh. "I don't know how much longer I have with him before she does something rash, like kidnapping him from patrol, or from the manor, even."

"Y'know," Dick says "if you're worried about the time you have with Damian, maybe don't spend your vacation running around as Batman behind his back." He feels bad pulling a guilt trip at a time like this, but Bruce isn't the only one with Damian's best interests at heart. Dick's always known what Damian needs before Bruce is aware that something's wrong. 

"I feel powerless." Bruce says.

"Well, you do run with a super-powered team with only a grappling-hook and batarang." Alfred announces his presence outside with the statement. He's come out bearing toast and a fruit platter, and neither Bruce nor Dick are convinced he wasn't waiting by the door with the tray to intercede when the conversation become too tense. The two men tuck in to breakfast, and Alfred takes a moment to appreciate the tide as it drifts farther and farther out. "I suggest we wake the remaining three sleepy-heads before much more valuable beach time gets away from us all."

. . .

Just before noon, the whole family is at the beach entirely sunscreened and ready for the day. The sun glistens against the water, and the crashing of the waves mixes with the cry of seagulls and the engines of tour-boats. 

Dick has already swum to the farthest buoy by the time Damian decides to grace the coast with his presence. Everyone had promised him that today would be the best day of the vacation, but still, he arrived with a small scowl on his face.

The youngest Robin walks over to where Jason is finishing up a cigarette, his scowl growing with every grain of sand that becomes lodged between his toes. "What's there to do?"

Jason chuckles as he picks up a stray rock and grinds out his cigarette on it. "Whatever the hell you want. Dick's taking a dip, Tim's making some kind of city down by the jetty, and I" He gestures to the folding chair he's sitting in "plan on drinking and sleeping out here until I'm the color of goddamn toast." He exaggerates settling in and closes his eyes, only to open them seconds later when Damian doesn't move. "I don't care if you want to scowl all day and do nothing, but do it in a place where you aren't blocking my sun."

Damian scoffs and walks to the jetty, stopping to observe Tim's sand castle.

"What's it even supposed to be?" he comments.

Tim looks up at him. "If it wasn't obvious, I'm making a replica of Gotham."

"What's that pile of sand over by your perimeter?"

"That's going to be the manor. If you stopped and thought about where it was placed, you'd know that."

"It looks nothing like Gotham."

"Well it's not finished yet."

Tim stares at Damian, and Damian stares at the miniature Gotham, taking in every small detail which Tim included. The police station is there, as are Wayne Enterprises and Arkham. Parts are still unfinished, but it is an outstanding -- if not a crudely crafted -- start. 

"Where's Grayson?" Damian asks.

"I think he's still out in the water." Tim responds, pausing construction to look for their brother among the gentle waves.

Damian lets out a small, affirmative grunt and walks out to the end of the jetty. The tide is fairly low, so only the last ten feet or so of the rocks are surrounded by water. Damian sits on one of the higher points and lets his feet graze the surface of the ocean. 

Before too long, Dick swims over in a near flawless freestyle. He examines Damian before speaking.

"You're not dressed for the beach!" he says, scandalized, referencing the t-shirt and cotton shorts Damian is wearing. "You said you were excited for today!" 

"I was...but I have a bad feeling."

Dick raises an eyebrow.

"Like," Damian tries to explain, "like when you're on patrol, and you're about to catch a criminal, but you know that it's not going to be easy. There's going to be an explosion, or someone's going to have an assault rifle. I just feel like that."

"Do you want to know the secret for dealing with that feeling, Damian?" Dick asks.

"You have a cure for a bad feeling?" Damian says, disbelieving. "Is it like how your cure for being upset about a broken arm is ice cream?"

"Totally not the same thing." Dick says, smiling. "Lean in close, and I'll tell you."

To Dick's surprise, Damian does lean down closer to him. Dick puts his hands on Damian's shoulders and brings his head closer to his ear. Before he can whisper anything, he pulls Damian into the water and swims farther away, laughing, to avoid any negative reaction.

"Grayson!" Damian shrieks. 

Dick is still laughing. "The cure is to ignore the feeling and have fun!" he calls from his safe distance. "I'm glad you fell for that, though. It would've been a lot harder to pull you in by your feet."

Damian splashes water in his face, but he doesn't get out. He floats on his back in the tide, letting the waves crash over him. 

He's not sure, but Dick swears that he can see a small smile on his brother's face.


	9. When the Going Gets Tough...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry to say that things take a downward turn in this chapter.

"Father!" Damian yells as he bursts into the living room. His clothes are soaked through, and his hair is slicked back with salt water. "Where did you say Pennyworth left my swimsuit?"

Bruce doesn't look up from his magazine. "It's in the laundry room, Damian." he calls absently. Seconds later he realizes that he's made a grave mistake. "Wait, Damian -- "

It's too late. Damian meets his father halfway down the hall, holding the cowl of the Batsuit.

"What's this?" he asks.

Bruce doesn't answer immediately. He's breathing agitatedly, crushing the glossy pages of the magazine in his hand, and trying to find a diplomatic solution.

"You know what that is, Damian."

Damian's eyes narrow suspiciously. "What's it doing here?"

"I brought it because -- "

"Why would you go on patrol and not take me?! You know that's all I've wanted to do since we got here!" His voice gets louder and higher, until it is a small squeak. His eyes begin to water, and he hisses in breathes to keep the tears from falling.

The commotion makes spectators out of the rest of the family. Alfred stands just out of view on the stairs, waiting to intervene, and Dick -- who had come up from the beach to remind Damian to bring more sunscreen down -- peers into the house through the screen door.

"I needed time to be alone and think." Bruce finally concedes. His voice is stern, as if he's switched to CEO autopilot. He's not used to losing arguments or revealing weaknesses, especially to the boys.

Damian doesn't respond, and he doesn't break eye contact. He stands as authoritatively as he can and chews his lip in an effort to match his voice's composure to its physical counterpart. 

Father and son remain in a stand-off, neither one willing to speak. Finally, Damian manages a small, angry, "Why."

Bruce sighs and puts a hand on Damian's shoulder -- a hand which is shaken off almost instantly. "Your mother has decided that she wants to regain full custody of you. About a month ago, she gave me a deadline to hand you over by, and after   
that, she said she's going to get the League of Assassins involved."

He kneels down so that he's face to face with Damian, who has started breathing heavily and staring at the ground. With every hard blink, more tears rolls down his full, flushed cheeks. 

"Son, I'm not going to lose you like this. I was trying to figure out another plan, and you know that I think best on patrol."

Damian looks up, slightly hopeful. "What did you come up with? What are we going to do?"

This time Bruce looks down at the ground. He shakes his head. "I don't know, Damian. Even if we faked your death and we all moved across the globe, your mother would be able to track us down and get what she wants."

Damian inhales sharply, and his voice drops dangerously low."When's the deadline."

Bruce meets Damian's eyes and then closes them. If he saw how disappointed his son was, he'd never be able to live with himself. He steels himself and puts his arm on Damian's shoulder, and this time it is allowed to remain there. 

"Next week."

He can see the cogs of Damian's sharp mind putting the pieces together in his head. Damian's lips form a thin line across his face, and his eyebrows furrow. 

"So I have enough time to go home and pack my things," Damian hisses. "and then you ship me back off to the League of Assassins."

"Damian, it's not like that, there's still time -- "

Damian pushes Bruce's hand of his shoulder violently. He throws the cowl that he'd been twisting in his hands onto the hardwood. He marches to the door (which Dick has enough sense to distance himself from), yells something in Arabic to Bruce, and bolts across the yard and to the water.

The slam of the screen door still echo through the house when Dick enters from his hiding spot. He approaches Bruce, who is still kneeling on the floor, and sighs.

"Was this vacation just an excuse to spend more time with Damian before giving him back to the al-Ghuls?"

Bruce grabs the hand Dick has extended and hoists himself to standing. 

"I don't know what I'm going to do, Dick."

"About Talia?"

"Without Damian."

. . .

Jason and Tim both whip around at the sound of the door slamming, and watch Damian sprint down the hill and across the beach. He runs to the end of the jetty and jumps into the water.

"What the hell?" Tim says as he stands up. He and Jason make their way to the end of the jetty and wait for their youngest brother to resurface. When he doesn't, Jason goes in after him.

Seconds pass, and then there is a rough patch of ripples and bubbles on the surface of the water. Jason pops up with both arms hooked under Damian's shoulders. Damian is thrashing and yelling as he's pulled onto the rocks.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Jason demands as he sets Damian down and starts to shake off the water. 

"I was practicing holding my breath, Todd." he coughs. "Mother used to make me sit underwater as both training and a punishment. I figured I would get used to it, since Father is handing me over to her."

"What?" Tim says, surprised.

At the same time, Jason blurts out, "Seriously?!"

Damian nods and coughs up water again.

"When did this happen?" asks Jason.

Damian shrugs, and looks off to the horizon, wishing he could swim to it and fall off the edge of the world -- an impossible, impractical, yet satisfying thought.

"Father says it's been at least a month."

"Well, I'm sure you misheard him." Tim says. For all of the abuse he takes from Damian, it's times like these that's he's reminded that Damian is still a child. He can kill people in hundreds of different ways, but he still needs to be walked through certain emotions. "Besides, even if you do go back to your mom, I'm sure you'll still be able to see us a lot."

"You don't know that." Damian says stubbornly.

"Yeah," Jason confirms. "You and Ra's may be tight, but you've never dealt with Talia."

"Still," Tim says. "My parents were separated for a couple months. They eventually got back together, but for those couple months, I went back and forth between them. It wasn't ideal, but there are some good things. I mean, you get two birthdays. That's pretty cool!"

Damian clicks his tongue. Tim puts an arm around Damian's shoulder and pulls one of Jason's to mirror it. 

"You're going to be OK, Damian." he says. "If Bruce can outsmart the entirety of Arkham, he can think of a way to keep all of us together."

Damian hums a sound of approval, and the three of them stay on the jetty and watch the horizon together.


	10. ...The Tough Get Going

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long. i've had this written up since august, but between moving to nyc and school starting, i haven't had the chance to get this where i would like it...until now!  
> so this is the end of the adventure of both the wayne family and my sporadic updating. i hope this was fun, and i hope this chapter reminds you of the warm days of summer as winter draws closer. thanks for sticking around for all of this : )

As the sun prepares to dip below the horizon, Alfred calls the boys up for dinner. They rush, sandy and slightly sunburned, onto the deck and wait for instruction -- all of them except Damian. He scampers up the embankment with his brothers (because who could deny Pennyworth?), but when he reaches the house, and catches a glimpse of Bruce's shadow behind the screen door, he slinks back to the front entrance.

Bruce walks out, keeping himself collected as if nothing was out of place.

"Is he not eating with us?" Tim asks, arms folded across his chest.

"No." Bruce says, strategically placing hamburgers and colorful vegetable skewers onto the newly repaired grill. "He's mad, and he has a right to be. I'm going to let him be mad."

The boys know that taking a passive role is eating away at Bruce. There's probably nothing he wants more than to stomp up to Damian's room and tell him how ridiculous avoiding him is. Alfred had most likely intervened immediately after the confrontation. 

No one says anything else about the incident. The only talk is about the beach that meal.

. . .

Dick knocks and opens the door to Damian's room around 9:30. His younger brother lays against the pillows, tossing Titus's tennis ball up in the air and catching it. The dog's head follows it's every motion.

"Hey," Dick says carefully. He has no idea what kind of mood Damian is in. At his best, he's unpredictable. Dick's seen him angry, happy, annoyed...but he's never seen betrayed before. He wonders what it's a gateway to. "Alfred made you a peanut butter and honey sandwich, since you missed dinner."

Damian looks up at Dick, who's holding out a round, plastic plate with an overflowing sandwich. He pulls out his headphones and sits up, accepting the plate and balancing it on his knees.

"Thanks, Grayson."

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" asks Dick.

"Unnecessary." Damian says.

Before Dick can ask what that's supposed to mean, there's a small ping against the window. All three heads shoot it's direction, and another sound comes a second later. Damian hands the plate back to Dick and opens the French doors. Titus follows him onto the balcony.

"What are you two doing?" Damian hisses indignantly.

Dick puts the plate on the nightstand and joins Damian at the window. On the lawn below, Jason and Tim wave at them.

"C'mon! We have a surprise!" Tim says in a hoarse whisper -- loud enough to be heard only by those looking for a voice.

Damian clicks his tongue, but makes his way down the side of the house, anyway, with Dick close behind him. Years of scaling buildings has made them almost inaudible as they descend from the second floor.

"Where is it?" Damian asks, safely on the back lawn and looking around.

Jason rolls his eyes. "It's farther down the beach, because Alfred and Bruce would have a heart attack a piece if they saw it."

The group starts to walk down the grassy hill, when Damian notices the slices of wheat bread still in Dick's hand.

"You brought the sandwich?" he asks, incredulously.

"Hey, it's almost 10:00 and I don't think you've eaten since this afternoon."

Of course Dick, of all people, would remember to bring something like a sandwich. His hands are sticky from where he held onto it while climbing down the trellis. There are indents where he held on too tightly. Begrudgingly, Damian takes the sandwich and starts to peel off the crusts, saving the center (the best part) for last. He pops them in his mouth eats as they walk across the sand.

A half mile or so down the beach, right where the Wayne property ends, is a box that comes up to Damian's knees. He licks the honey from his fingers as he gingerly kicks the box and asks, "Is this it?"

"Easy," Jason says while Tim laughs lightly. "I wouldn't jostle those around too much."

One of Damian's eyebrows shoots up, and he moves a suspicious glance between Jason and the box. Behind him, Dick gives Jason and Tim a shocked and scared look. He trusts them not kill the kid, but everything short of that is essentially fair game.

Wordlessly, Damian moves to the box and opens the top flaps. His eyes widen and a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth as he pulls a bottle rocket out of the box.

"Explosives?"

Dick's heart stops for a moment, and he rushes forward to confiscate it. When he sees it for himself, he breathes a sigh of relief and Jason and Tim howl with laughter.

"God no, fireworks!" The confused look on Damian's face sets them off again. "Seriously, how have you never seen fireworks."

"I've seen fireworks, Todd. I've just never seen them used....recreationally."

"Don't think about how upsetting that is." Tim says quickly as he nudges Jason. "C'mon, let's set them up."

The four boys line the rockets up at the edge of the water, and when they finish, Tim pulls a smaller box out from the inside pocket of his hoodie.

"We could light these in the normal way," he says, pulling four long, thin sparklers from the box. "But where," he takes Jason's Zippo. "is the fun in that?"

Once the sparklers are light and ablaze, Tim hands one to each of them and uses his to ignite the first rocket. It shoots off overhead and across the water, exploding they complete a full arch.

In the dark, Damian's eyes light up, and he rushes forward to ignite the string on two of them and watches them light up the harbor.

. . .

Bruce sits in the soft glow of the living room on the couch with the best view of the harbor. He emails work and Selina, to be sure that everything is running smoothly in his absence. There are quiet clinks of ceramic from the kitchen as Alfred finishes with the dishes.

In the distance, there is a faint sound of an explosion, and Bruce rises in his seat, assessing the safety of the situation.

"Alfred?" he calls from the other room. The old man appears in the arched doorway of the living room, drying off one of the serving dishes. "Did you hear that?"

"I'm afraid not, sir."

Alfred disappears back into the kitchen and Bruce settles against the cushions one more. The bangs and booms in the distance are still audible, but they mix with the sounds of boyish laughter -- laughter that Bruce easily recognizes. He looks out down the beach, watching and listening as the laughter turns into aimless chatter and as it grows closer. He can see four fuzzy silhouettes walk back towards the jetty. They walk to the end of the rocks and watch the moon cross over the expanse of the harbor.

In that moment, every member of the family wished for a future as gentle and kind as the warm breeze against the wood paneling of the houses. As soft as the caress of the waves against the sand, and as bright as the stars shining down and illuminating the water.


End file.
